


First Time

by quiet__tiger



Category: Mr. Brooks
Genre: Animal Death, Gen, M/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: A teenaged Earl Brooks makes his first kill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence, some gore, possibly disturbing content.
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal Dec. 31st, 2008.

One more twist of the knife...

With a sticky, squelching sound, the dog fell to the ground, heaving its last choking breath. Earl stood over it, breathing heavily, glad it was finally done. That mangy mutt had followed him home from school every day for the last month, and he was tired of it. Tired of it begging him, tired of its sad, milky eyes looking at him.

Now its eyes were empty and starting to glaze over.

It was then Earl realized how hard he was, how close to coming. He just needed a little more...

He froze when the voice behind him whispered, “It’s okay, Earl. Go ahead. You earned it.” Marshall continued to whisper to him, refresh his memory about how it felt to drive the knife into the dog, feel its blood on his hands, the last cry...

He stood there and came in his jeans, shuddering with every pulse. Marshall’s hands on his back helped calm him down, helped him return to the present. He looked down at what he just did, knife still in his hand, carcass on the grass near his feet. Suddenly cold all over, he turned to the side and vomited up his lunch.

He collapsed to his knees, still wracked with shudders of a different kind than from a minute ago. Then Marshall’s hands were on him again, playing over his shoulders and back, up through his hair. “Shh, Earl. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, Marshall!”

“It was a stray dog who was probably suffering. You took it out of its misery, and were able to do something we’ve wanted for a long time now. It’s okay.”

“I _killed_ it.”

“And you liked it.”

Earl shook his head, vehemently denying Marshall’s claim. He didn’t like it. It was horrible. He killed an animal.

Marshall got closer; Earl could feel him all along his back, could feel his breath on his ear. “You. Liked. It.”

He tried to deny it again, he did, but even while he refused to admit it, he remembered sliding the knife in and how good it felt, and the rush that came over him when the thing finally died. His semen cooling against his skin only drove the point home further.

He liked it.

He killed something, and he liked it.

He whispered to Marshall, “I liked it.”

“What, Earl?”

“I said...” He took a deep breath. “I liked it.”

Marshall wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back against his chest, causing them both to fall backwards. Earl landed on top of him, and Marshall held on. “I knew it. I’ve been wanting to do that since... I don’t know. Since forever. And it was _good_.”

Earl felt himself smile. Then he started to laugh. Marshall joined in, and Earl was glad that no one could hear them, because he bet they sounded a little crazy. Their laughter grew louder and louder, each of them feeding off the other’s elation, until Earl couldn’t breathe.

Pulling away from Marshall, he said, “We need to go. I can’t just stand here.”

Marshall frowned. “I guess not.” He looked over at the carcass. “Maybe we should take a picture next time.”

“Maybe.” His semen was sticky now in his shorts, and he grimaced. But something in him didn’t regret it, any of it. Looking over at Marshall, who was grinning again as if he could read his mind—oh, right—Earl couldn’t help but smile back.

“A camera. And some gloves. And you’ll need a new knife.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“No guessing, Earl. You need to be prepared next time.”

Earl didn’t bother to question whether there’d be a next time. There would be. Even without Marshall urging him on, there would be. Maybe something bigger than the stray dog. Something bigger might feel even better.

He cleaned up as best he could; he’d throw his shirt away later.

He could feel Marshall with him all the way home.


End file.
